


Carolina The Teenage Witch

by Cinaed



Series: The Best of Carolina The Teenage Witch [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sabrina the Teenage Witch Fusion, Angst and Humor, Background Het, Epistolary, Family Secrets, First Meetings, Gen, Magic, Mild Blood, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: Carolina: The Teenage Witch was a sitcom series that aired on ABC, and then the WB network, over the course of six seasons, airing directly after its parent series Sabrina: The Teenage Witch each Friday night. Similar to its predecessor, it centers on the life of Carolina Church, a teenager who discovers on her sixteenth birthday that she’s a witch. Although a spin-off, Carolina: The Teenage Witch featured a host of original characters, with the occasional guest star and name drop from its parent show, and rare crossover episode. It also took a more serious tone, focusing on the half-mortal witch and mortal discrimination and the corruption within the Witches Council.





	1. Pilot Movie, Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aryashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryashi/gifts).



> This is the beginning of an AU that has taken over my brain, in no small part due to Aryashi's enabling and encouragement. 
> 
> Welcome to yet another self-indulgent series! This one is a fusion of Sabrina The Teenage Witch, with the occasional crossover fic planned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Pilot Movie, Air date: September 26, 1997. I mean, obviously, right? Not only are we introduced to Carolina and most of the main cast, but the movie immediately throws it in your face that it’s not going to be Sabrina 2.0. Plus, who didn’t pine after that blue dress that Carolina wore on her first day at school?

With a whole six seasons of _Carolina: The Teenage Witch_ to choose from, creating a list of the best episodes was a difficult task. How do you choose between some of the thrilling mid-season finales, which often left viewers at the edges of their seats? Is “Meet the Spellmans” one of the best episodes, or just an unnecessary crossover episode? (My vote’s for the former-- who can really hate an episode where Grif and Salem get to interact?) Some gems can even be found in the final season, which struggled at the start from its unexpected renewal and lack of ideas for a seasonal arc in the writers room.   

_Carolina: The Teenage Witch_ was a sitcom series that aired on ABC, and then the WB network, over the course of six seasons, airing directly after its parent series _Sabrina: The Teenage Witch_ each Friday night _._ Similar to its predecessor, it centers on the life of Carolina Church, a teenager who discovers on her sixteenth birthday that she’s a witch. Although a spin-off, _Carolina: The Teenage Witch_ featured a host of original characters, with the occasional guest star and name drop from its parent show, and rare crossover episode. It also took a more serious tone, focusing on the half-mortal witch and mortal discrimination and the corruption within the Witches Council.

We at OhMyWitchyCarolina have been asked to compose a Best of Carolina the Teenage Witch list, and so after a long, epic struggle and multiple rewatches of the show, here goes. We’ve divided it into favorites per season!

Comment and tell us what you think of the show, and when you first watched it! (Just don’t tell us how old you were when the show started. I don’t want to feel old.)

 

 

  1. **The Pilot Movie, Air date: September 26, 1997. I mean, obviously, right? Not only are we introduced to Carolina and most of the main cast, but the movie immediately throws it in your face that it’s not going to be Sabrina 2.0. Plus, who didn’t pine after that blue dress that Carolina wore on her first day at school?**



 

* * *

 

 

_Dear Doctor Church,_

_Per your request, the Council has sent the child’s guardians to your location. In addition they have been sent early to ensure an easy transition for the girl in this time of great change._

_As you know, Emily Grey has been of great assistance to the Council over the centuries. Under her watchful eye, I feel certain that the girl will adhere to our laws and avoid any unfortunate consequences for herself or her mother._

_-Malcolm Hargrove, Subhead of the Witches Council_

 

 

* * *

 

It’s three days before Carolina’s birthday, and she wakes with a sense of unease. She lays on her cot for a moment, trying to figure it out. Maybe it’s the tension she’s noticed between her parents lately. Or maybe it’s the heavy clouds that she can see outside her window, threatening another storm. Rain is the last thing this island needs.

When she goes out to the small kitchen, her mom isn’t there. That’s not a surprise. Her mom would’ve gone to triple-check the flood defenses at the first sight of those dark clouds. Her father is sitting at the table, his glasses in his hands.   

Carolina takes another second to register that there are two women sitting with him. It’s not that she’s unobservant, it’s just that it’s all but impossible for them to be there. It’s a family rule. Her family has privacy everywhere her mom goes with Rex Rescue, even if that privacy extends to only a single shared room. This time they have the luxury of an entire three-room cottage.

Her stomach drops to the floor. Worst case scenarios fill up her head. Her mom was checking on one of the diversion canals when it gave way. There was a mudslide and her mom’s missing--     

“Good morning, Carolina,” her father says, sliding his glasses on. Then, either because he knows her, or because she hasn’t hidden her panic, he adds evenly, “Your mother is fine. She’s checking on the raised embankments around the village.”

Carolina’s relief lasts until he adds, “I want you to meet Dr. Emily Grey and Ms. Vanessa Kimball. You’ll be staying with them for some time.”

“Staying with them?” Carolina echoes. The words don’t make sense. “Why? For how long? Did Mom--” Her father’s expression doesn’t change. She can’t help but remember the whispered arguments she wasn’t supposed to notice and the habit her parents have lately of getting quiet when she walks into the room. “Is this a divorce thing? Are you guys separating?”

“ _Carolina_ ,” her father says sharply.

She feels like she’s six instead of almost sixteen. She bites her lip. For a moment she burns with resentment at these strangers. Who are these women? Why isn’t her mom here? She’s still choking on her anger when one of the women stands.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Carolina!” she says with a wide smile. If she works with Carolina’s mother, it’s clearly not on the ground level; she’s wearing heels that still only help her come up to Carolina’s shoulder and her manicured nails are purple and unblemished. “I mean, it’s so nice to meet you _again._ How old was she when I last saw her, Leonard? Two? Five?” She giggles. “I doubt that I made an impression in her declarative memory.”  

“Carolina was two,” her father says, unsmiling.

He looks at Carolina. “Your mother and I are _not_ getting a divorce. However, we have been discussing your future. While I’ve ensured that your homeschooling has been above and beyond what is expected from the lackluster American education system, there is your social development to consider.”

“My social development,” Carolina repeats slowly.  

“Yes. You need to interact with your peers. So you’ll be attending a high school in the United States. Dr. Grey and Ms. Kimball will be your guardians for the duration.”

There’s a dull roaring in her ears. Carolina doesn’t look at Dr. Grey or Ms. Kimball, because if she does she’s going to lose what little control she has left. She says through gritted teeth, “That sounds like it should’ve been a family discussion. Why didn’t you guys talk to me about it? Why isn’t Mom here?” _Why are you sending me to live with strangers? Why aren’t we all going to America together? Did Mom choose the job over me?_ The last unasked question makes her stomach hurt.

Her father doesn’t like to admit to even the possibility of a mistake. Maybe that’s why he pauses for a moment before he says, “Perhaps we should have discussed it with you. However, the decision is final.”

A giggle interrupts them. “Don’t fret, Carolina! You’ll be in _excellent_ hands. Vanessa here is experienced in helping teenagers like you. It’s one reason why she was chosen as your guardian!”

“Grey,” says the other woman in a warning tone. Unlike Dr. Grey, Ms. Kimball doesn’t look excited at the prospect of being Carolina’s guardian. In fact, her expression is hard and distant, like she doesn’t want to be here at all.

Carolina’s working on a plan. The decision can’t be final. If she talks to her mom, her mom will see that this development thing isn’t a big deal. Carolina socializes with her mom’s rescue team all the time, and none of them thinks she’s weird. Once she has her mom on her side, they’ll win her father over. They always do. But Kimball’s lack of enthusiasm is noticeable beside Grey’s almost manic delight, and Carolina tears herself away from her planning to ask, still angry but curious too, “So are you a teacher or a psychologist?”

“Neither,” Kimball says flatly. Then she makes a face, as though hearing herself for the first time. Her expression softens as she gets to her feet. “Listen, Carolina. I know this is a shock. But it’s going to be okay. You’ll understand--” She stops. Her smile fades, and she’s back to looking grim. “Come on, Grey. We should give them some privacy.”

“Oh, should we?” Grey stares at Carolina’s father. The wide smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a pointed weight to her words as she says, “Help your daughter pack, Leonard. We’ll be waiting at the Jeep.”  

Carolina feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. “Wait, I’m leaving _now_? But Mom--”

“You know how your mother feels about goodbyes,” her father says.

Carolina’s face gets hot. Her eyes prickle.  _But this is different_ , she wants to say. _This is me_. But if she tries to speak, she might start yelling or crying. It’s safer just to go into her room and start packing. It’s all muscle memory at this point; she does it in a daze.

She wishes it wasn’t so easy to pack up all her things. If she moves slowly enough, maybe her mom will come back from checking the embankments. If she can just see her mom, she’s convinced everything will be okay.

But they’ve always traveled light. Soon the only thing left is a framed photo of the three of them, taken at a fundraising event in Vienna when Carolina was thirteen. Her mom is laughing, one arm around Carolina’s shoulders, the other hand resting on her father’s arm. Her father isn’t smiling, exactly, but his shoulders are loose and he’s looking intently down into her mom’s face, oblivious to everything else. In that captured moment only Carolina spots the photographer. She beams, pleased with everything in the world: her fancy new dress, her braided hair, the lip gloss her parents allowed instead of lipstick.

Carolina remembers being so happy that night.  

Behind her, her father clears his throat.  

She jumps and shoves the picture into her second bag. She busies herself with the zipper, but her hands are shaking. It takes her a few tries. “I’m done packing,” she says.

“Carolina,” her father says. She doesn’t look at him. He clears his throat again. “I know this seems strange, but I promise I’ll explain when I can. Your mother and I--”

Carolina has to say something or she’s going to choke on her anger. “I don’t see anyone stopping you from explaining now. And anyway, you said the decision is final, remember? What’s there to talk about?” She pauses, but he doesn’t say anything. “That’s what I thought.” She snatches the bags off the cot, hefting them onto her shoulders, and adds, wanting the words to hurt, “Don’t bother saying goodbye. I know you hate goodbyes almost as much as Mom.”   

“Carolina!” her father says, but he doesn’t stop her when she stomps past him.

She throws her bag into the back of the Jeep.

“Ready to go?” Grey asks. She giggles again. Carolina’s already starting to hate that sound.  

Carolina nods. She doesn’t look back.

It’s not until they reach the tiny airfield that she realizes she’s still waiting for her mom to come running up, shouting that this is a mistake. Carolina does look back then, but there’s nothing but the hydrosacks lining the road and the threatening storm clouds.  

“Is it even safe to fly?” she wonders aloud.

Kimball frowns, eyeing the small piston plane with obvious misgiving, but Grey laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll be in Massachusetts before you know it, and nowhere near this storm!”

“Um,” Carolina says. “The pilot agreed to that?” This question is met with blank stares. She stares back. There’s no way they’re flying all the way to Massachusetts in this plane. One this size can probably make it in six hours, but with that approaching storm, no decent pilot will chance it. “I travel a lot, remember? Here to Massachusetts is at least five to six hours, not including any layovers for refueling.” They both keep staring. Exasperation breaks through some of Carolina’s misery. “How did you guys _get_ here?”

Grey and Kimball exchange a look. “I guess it just felt like a short flight,” Kimball says. “Here, let me help you with your bags.”

Carolina can carry her own luggage, but she lets Kimball take one anyway. Before she gets on the plane, she turns for one last look, that stupid hope still tight in her chest. Her mom’s not there. It’s just Grey being weird. As Carolina watches, the woman points a finger at the plane and mutters under her breath like she can order it to stay in the air.

Grey freezes when she realizes that Carolina’s watching. Then she winks. “Don’t tell Vanessa,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “She’ll only fuss.” Then she saunters up the staircase, stepping lightly like she’s not wearing three-inch heels.

“Great,” Carolina says to no one. She laughs so she doesn’t cry. “My parents abandoned me with weirdos.”  

 

* * *

 

Grey and Kimball live in a large brownstone in a town called Westbridge two hours outside of Boston. Carolina’s bedroom is large and empty except for a bed, a desk, and a dresser.

“We thought you might like to decorate it yourself,” Kimball explains, gesturing at the blank white walls. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Carolina says, though she doesn’t want to decorate. She wants to be back in the tiny cottage, listening to her mother complain about the weather. She drops her bags on her bed and starts to unpack, muscle memory carrying her through her misery.

“Oh,” Grey says. The strange note of alarm in her voice makes Carolina look at her. Grey’s frowning, her hands on her hips. “Is that _all_ of your clothes?”

Carolina glances at Kimball, who looks five seconds away from rolling her eyes. “Yes?” she ventures. It’s not a lot, she’ll admit. She has a week’s worth of comfortable, work-ready clothes and then two dresses for special events. She feels simultaneously embarrassed and defensive at Grey’s dismayed expression. “We move around. We can’t exactly haul around a lot of clothes.”

Grey’s expression sets. “Well, that won’t do at all. The other teenagers will eat you alive!”

“Grey,” Kimball says. “If I’ve learned anything about teenagers over the last ce-- over the last decade of working with them, it’s that they’re all self-absorbed. No one will notice if she wears the same clothes.”

Grey looks unconvinced. “I’ve been reading some teen magazines in preparation for Carolina’s stay, and while most of the articles obviously rely on conjecture rather than fact-based reasoning, it’s clear that teenagers place a large importance on their fashion choices! We wouldn’t want Carolina’s social development to be stunted over such a silly thing as a few new outfits! We’ll do some clothing shopping tomorrow.”

Carolina’s torn between emotions again. She ends up a muddled mix of angry and envious. She loves getting dressed up on the rare occasions her mom can’t get out of a formal dinner or charity banquet. She especially loves the thought of having more than two dresses. If her mom was here, promising her a shopping trip, she’d be dancing around the room. But she doesn’t want to go shopping in some mall to appease some teens she’s never even met. And she definitely doesn’t want to go shopping with Kimball or Grey.

She folds her arms against her chest. “I don’t have any money.”

“You have a monthly allowance from your dad,” Kimball says, to her surprise.

Grey nods. “And besides, Vanessa and I have sixteen birthdays to catch up on! Oh, I know! Would you like sixteen dresses? With your lovely hair and eyes, we have so many complementary colors to choose from.” She taps a purple nail against her lips, eyeing Carolina pensively. “I’d love to see you in something burgundy or emerald.”   

Kimball winces, though Carolina can’t tell if it’s at the expense or because she hates shopping. Her own clothes are more Carolina’s mom’s style: comfortable and durable. “ _Sixteen_ dresses?”

“At least!” Grey chirps.

“No one needs sixteen dresses.”

“You might be right.” Grey studies Carolina again, who’s starting to be amused despite her anger. “Of course, her current wardrobe looks suited for more temperate weather. We’re in Massachusetts now, and it’s practically October! She’ll need coats and winter boats, some nice tops and pants, and….”

Well, Carolina thinks as Kimball passes a hand over her face and says wearily, “I might have to talk to your dad about a bigger allowance,” at least her parents abandoned her with _generous_ weirdos.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Carolina is listlessly eating her birthday breakfast when Grey tells her that she’s a witch.

“Uh huh,” she says absently, and then the words actually register. She pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Wait, what?” It’s a joke, she decides after a moment. A weird one, but Grey and Kimball have been attempting to distract her from her parents’ radio silence since the plane first touched down in Boston. First there was the shopping trip to fill Carolina’s closet and dresser with more clothing than anyone needs in their life and to decorate the bedroom walls. (Carolina is still half-hoping her father will get Kimball’s bill and call just to scold about unnecessary expenses.) Then, when Carolina asked, Kimball took her to the nearest shul. Carolina let the rabbi show her around, too angry to actually confide in her and ask for advice or comfort. The next day was spent with Grey driving through town, pointing out important landmarks, places she’s told the teens frequent, and lastly Carolina’s future school.

Now apparently they’re resorting to outright lies.  

“Grey!” Kimball protests from the kitchen. She emerges with another stack of pancakes, frowning in Grey’s direction. Apparently she’s in on the weird distraction tactic, though, because the next words out of her mouth are, “What happened to the ‘break it to her gently’ plan?”

“Oh, one more shock won’t hurt her!” Grey chirps. She leans forward, her chin propped in her hands. “You’re a witch, Carolina, through your father. That makes you half-mortal, which puts you in a very interesting position within witch society!”

Kimball snorts. “That’s one way of putting it,” she says dryly. Then she sighs and sits down. She might not be a teacher, but she sounds like one as she adds, “Witch society is ruled--”

“Governed!”

“--by the Witches Council,” Kimball continues without missing a beat at Grey’s correction, although her eyes narrow slightly. “They’ve instituted multiple laws to discourage relationships between witches and mortals. With your mother being mortal, you and your family have to abide by these rules.”

Grey nods. “When one half of a marriage lives for eighty years and the other for centuries, things have a tendency to get messy! The Witches Council also doesn’t want to risk the potential of a war between the Mortal Realm and the Other Realm. None of us want a repeat of past witch hunts!”

“Some of us feel that telling individual mortals doesn’t risk the safety of all witches, but so far we’re in the minority,” Kimball says. She presses her lips together, as though wanting to say more, and then shakes her head. “But that’s another discussion. What matters now is that half-mortal witches' powers are bound until they're sixteen. They can't be told of their magic until then.”

Carolina sets her fork down. She was miserable and hurt, but now she’s absolutely furious. Do they really expect her to buy this? “Right,” she says sarcastically. “So my father, who’s a scientist, is actually a witch. And my mom knew about it the whole time. And they didn’t bother to tell me.”

“Being a witch doesn’t preclude being a doctor,” Grey says. “I’m an attending physician at Westbridge Medical!”

“Carolina,” Kimball says. The quiet intensity in her voice makes Carolina look at her. The grim look from the cottage is back. “Your parents _couldn’t_ tell you the truth. The Council takes these laws seriously.”

“Oh yes,” Grey agrees with manic cheer. “The consequences would have been extremely unfortunate. Why, the Council would have had no choice but to take you from your parents and put you with a law-abiding family!”

“Stop,” Carolina says. It’s hard to talk through her fury. “Just stop.”

Grey blinks. “She doesn’t believe us,” she says, turning to Kimball with a slight frown that quickly broadens into a smile. “I suppose we should demonstrate!” She points a finger at Carolina and says in a singsong voice, “Carolina’s fashion choices have been improving, but let’s find her something that really gets her grooving!” A purple spark flares on the tip of Grey’s finger.

Carolina has just long enough to marvel at their follow-through on this stupid distraction tactic before the spark leaps from Grey’s finger. It hits Carolina’s chest. Between one blink and the next, Carolina’s pajamas are gone. Instead she’s wearing a white shirt and matching bright blue flared pants and fringed vest.

Carolina stares down at herself. Cautiously she touches the fringe. It feels real.

“We’re in the year 1997, Grey,” Kimball says. “No one’s used the word grooving in twenty years.”

Carolina keeps rubbing at the fringe, like it’ll prove to be some optical illusion if she touches or looks at it the right way. Magic isn’t real. It can’t be. That’s not a secret anyone could keep. That’s not a secret her parents could hide from her for sixteen years, whatever the supposed consequences.  

“Carolina?” Kimball asks gently.

“No,” Carolina says. She stands up. The room spins.

She trips as she bolts for the front door. The flared pants are too wide, the magic shoes clunky and heavy. “I don’t want this,” she says, gesturing wildly. She doesn’t know if she’s talking about the outfit, the magic, the house, or everything at once. “ _I don’t want it_.”

She keeps running, out the door and down the sidewalk, ignoring Kimball’s calls for her to stop. She runs until her chest hurts and her legs feel like noodles, her entire body protesting the lack of a warm-up stretch. Only when her vision starts getting gray around the edges does she stop and fold in on herself.

As Carolina gasps for breath, someone says, “Did you forget your water? Uh, I’ve got some if you need it.”  

Carolina blinks. She glances from side to side. She’s in a park. She also isn't wearing that weird outfit Grey put her in; instead she’s in her old running outfit, the one she wears with her mom whenever they exercise together. She’s even wearing her beat-up running shoes. Her toes curl into well-worn grooves.

“So...is that a no?”

She looks up.

A boy her age smiles awkwardly, a water bottle in his outstretched hand.

Carolina hesitates, and takes it with a thank-you that hurts her dry throat. She drinks slowly. Her thoughts still churn, but she tries to focus on the boy in front of her. It’s easier than dealing with everything else. “Thanks,” she says again, handing the bottle back.

“No problem,” he says. “I’ve been there.” He pauses and then adds, “I haven’t seen you around. Are you from Seaside?” She must look blank, because he frowns. “Seaside High School?”

“No,” she says. “I’m starting at Westbridge on Monday.”

He grins. “In that case, _please_ tell me you run track.”

“Track?” she says, surprised. “Like in the Olympics?” She and her family were on the other side of the world when the Atlanta games happened, but she remembers watching Michael Johnson and Donovan Bailey break world records. Her mom got drunk and cheered for the US, sprawled tipsily against her father’s shoulder as they all huddled around the small, grainy TV. Carolina’s chest tightens at the memory.

“Yeah, like in the Olympics,” the boy says, laughing a little. “You run like that, you’ve got to play some kind of sport.”

Carolina hesitates. What she knows about high school comes from movies and occasional interactions with teen volunteers and people her age at relief benefits. Saying she’s home-schooled tends to get weird looks and the assumption that her parents are Amish or hippies or, on one memorable occasion, Christian fundamentalists. That last one still makes her mom laugh. 

Still, she’s not going to start off by lying to the first guy she meets from Westbridge. “No,” she says with a shrug. “My family travels for my mom’s work, so it was a choice between homeschooling or switching schools every two months. This is actually going to be my first time at school.”  

“Oh wow,” the boy says, eyes wide. He’s not looking at her weird, though. Instead he’s all sympathy. “I was about to give you the whole new kid speech, but you’re _really_ new.” He thrusts out a hand. “I’m David Washington, but everyone calls me Wash. I moved here in seventh grade.”  
  
Carolina shakes his hand. “I’m Carolina Church.”  
  
Wash’s grip tightens. He squints. “Seriously? York didn’t put you up to this?”  
  
“I don’t know who that is,” Carolina says, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“No, right.” Wash makes a face, letting go of her hand. “Just, uh, be prepared for people to laugh when you tell them you’re Carolina.”  
  
Carolina frowns. “What’s weird about my name?”  
  
“Nothing!” Wash assures her. “It’s just. Uh. So when I moved here in seventh grade, one of my first assignments was a big geography project. There’s another guy named York in my class, so someone joked that I had to do Washington State and he had to do New York. Somehow everyone ended up with a state nickname in that class. You’ve got Wyoming, the twins North and South, Maine, other guys....”  
  
He pauses and adds, plaintively, “Honestly, I still don’t know everyone’s real name and it’s been three years.”

Amused, Carolina tilts her head. “Am I going to have to fight someone for my name?”

Wash grins. “I’d pay to see that, but no. The Carolina twins moved away halfway through eighth grade.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “So, if you want someone to show you around the school on Monday, I’m happy to do it. New kids solidarity.”  

“Oh,” Carolina says. She studies his face, but he seems sincere. It would be nice to go into the school not completely ignorant. She nods, lets her smile widen. “Sounds good.”

“Cool!” Wash bounces a little on his feet. “Though fair warning. If you keep running around town like this, someone’ll tattle to Sarge. He’ll order you to join the track team. Or beg.”

Carolina raises her eyebrows again. “I thought football was the big sport.”   

Wash makes a face. “Movies didn’t lie. Everyone’s obsessed with football. Wait ‘til you meet Connie. She’ll give you an hour-long rant about how we have a bunch of awesome teams and players making it to Nationals, and no one but Sarge cares. And Sarge only does because he’s, uh, terrifyingly competitive. He once challenged the vice principal, Mr. Kraft, to a contest of who could give the most kids detention. That...was a bad day.”

“Sounds like it,” Carolina says, back to being amused.

Then Wash asks, “So your family moves around a lot? Why are you guys settling down now?” and her good mood vanishes.

She hasn’t forgotten all the crazy stuff Grey and Kimball told her or the weirdness that’s now apparently her life, but talking to Wash helped to distance herself for a few minutes.

Now it all comes rushing back, and with it all the questions she was too upset to ask before. Grey and Kimball mentioned rules about secrecy, but that doesn’t explain why she’s living with them instead of her parents, or how many rules there are about magic. Carolina fights to keep her face neutral, but something must change in her expression because Wash holds up his hands and says, “Or tell me to mind my own business. That’s good too.”

Carolina shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m staying with some...with some family friends. And I just realized that I ran out on them, so they’re probably worried.” She glances around, realizing that she’s completely lost. “Point me in the direction of Fairfax Boulevard?”

“Fairfax? That’s… Okay. Turn around, walk this path straight out of the park, turn right, keep walking until you hit Parris Street, turn left, keep walking until Fairfax Boulevard.” Wash pauses. “Got that?” When she nods, he adds, “I’ll meet you in front of school on Monday, show you the ropes. Introduce you to some of my friends. I think you'll like Niner and Connie.”

Carolina summons up a smile. How’s that for social development, Dad? She’s already making potential friends. “Sounds good. See you on Monday.”  

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why am I staying with you?” she asks as soon as she walks into the brownstone.

Both Grey and Kimball turn to her. They're both crouched around a large map on the floor, with four burning candles at each corner. It looks like it's a map of Westbridge. Kimball looks relieved while Grey beams and bounds to her feet, brushing sparkling dust off her hands.

“Oh, Carolina, I’m so impressed! Most witches fail at their first attempt to use magic, especially half-mortals. And look at you! A full clothing swap! We still need to work on your basics, of course, but I’m sure Leonard will be proud.”

Carolina ignores her. She stares at Kimball. “Why am I here?”

“Carolina,” Kimball says, then sighs. She points at the map. The flames die, and the map rolls itself up and flies away, propping itself carefully in the far corner of the living room. Carolina knows magic is real, but it's still a shock to see it done so casually. “Sit down, please.”

Carolina doesn’t want to, but she sits on the couch.

Kimball stands ramrod straight, her hands behind her back. It’s a posture Carolina recognizes, the one her mom’s never been able to shake even after twenty years out of the military. Carolina swallows against the lump in her throat and fixes her attention on the small crease in Kimball’s forehead.

“Mortal-witch unions are frowned upon. They’re not against the law, but there are ways the Council discourages them. We already told you that half-mortals can’t use or know about their magic until they’re sixteen. Grey wasn’t joking. The Council would have taken you away if your parents had slipped up. It’s happened before.”

“But my parents didn’t break the rule, and you still took me away,” Carolina says.

Kimball winces. “There’s another way the Council discourage the unions. Once the half-mortal witch turns sixteen, they can’t see their mortal parent for the next two years or that parent will turn into a ball of wax.”

“A ball of wax,” Carolina repeats. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m afraid we’re deadly serious,” Grey says. For once she isn’t smiling. “You cannot see or speak to your mother for the next two years. Once you’ve received your witch’s license, the ban will be lifted, but until then there can’t be any contact.”

“A ball of wax?” Carolina stares between them. “I-- Who came up with that?”

Grey and Kimball exchange a look. “You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Grey says thoughtfully. “It was before my time. A ball of wax feels very Drell. The others would have gone for something a bit more--” She hesitated and purses her lips. “Elegant.”

Kimball snorts. “Something Greek-inspired, like Medusa. They're big on the classics.”

“Exactly!” Grey says, smiling. Kimball doesn’t smile back.

Carolina swallows. She can’t imagine being apart from her mom for two years. The longest they’ve been separated was one terrible month the summer Carolina turned seven, when she came down with chickenpox and was quarantined. She presses her lips together until she has some control, then says, “That’s a really stupid rule. But my dad can visit, right? He could--”

“Not yet,” Kimball says. Her voice is gentle. “He’s under certain restrictions. He can’t see your mom either. But--”

“I can only speak to you this way,” her father says to her left.

Slowly, she turns her head, expecting to see her father there despite Kimball’s explanation. Instead she finds herself staring at a painting on the wall. She recognizes it from an art history book. It’s a reproduction of _A Sick Child brought into the Temple of Aesculapius_. One of the men looks away from the sick child and stares at Carolina. He has her father’s face. She shivers, awe and shock fluttering in her stomach, but doesn't look away. 

“Carolina. We all have to abide by the Council’s laws. Listen to Ms. Kimball and Dr. Grey. They are both experienced witches. Do well in both your magical and mundane studies.”

He pauses, and for a second she thinks he’s going to ask her how she’s doing, or pass along some message from her mom, but instead his painted eyes turn towards Kimball and Grey. “I don’t entirely trust your Westbridge High School to prepare her for university. Let me know if she needs tutors.”

Heat rushes to Carolina’s face. “ _Dad_.” She knows that her father doesn’t like sentimentality. He always looks pained whenever her mom tries to get him to express his feelings. But they can’t see her mom for _two years_. If there’s a moment to be sentimental, it’s now. She bites her lip. “You really can’t see Mom? Is she mad?”

“Your mother understands the rules,” he says, which means she’s furious. “I can speak to you via this spell. Your mother will continue with her work.”

“I,” Carolina says. Her throat is tight. “I can’t even write her letters?”

“No!” all three of them shout.

Her father actually snaps, “Didn’t they explain? You cannot contact your mother at all.”

“They did, I just--”

“It’s hard to accept,” Kimball says. "Remember, Dr. Church, Carolina didn't know about magic until an hour ago. Give her time." She actually steps forward and places a hand on Carolina’s shoulder. It’s a quick, light touch before Kimball steps back and says briskly, “But there’s plenty of time to talk about the rules. Today’s your birthday. Why don’t we bring out the presents?”

“Oh, yes! What a good idea! And I know the perfect first present.” Grey crooks a finger, and a large book floats into the room. “Happy birthday, Carolina!”

The tome floats over to Carolina. It hovers in the air, though occasionally it gives an impatient little tremor, like it wants her to touch it. She stares at it. _The Discovery of Magic_ is embossed in gold lettering into the leather. The leather was once a rich dark brown, but now it’s begun to turn golden-yellow with age. It gives another wiggle and practically thrusts itself into her hands. Is it sentient, or is this just Grey teasing her? Hopefully the latter, but either way, she shrinks back. She’s still on the couch. There’s nowhere to go, and Grey and Kimball are watching expectantly. It’s hard to tell what her father’s painted face is doing, but he’s probably watching too.

Carolina doesn’t want the book. She doesn’t want to learn magic. But the book gives another impatient nudge at her hands, like a puppy begging for a scratch behind the ears. Slowly, she takes it. It’s as heavy as she thought it would be.  

“Yeah, thanks,” she deadpans. “This sure makes up for today.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The [outfit](https://www.retrowaste.com/1970s/fashion-in-the-1970s/1970s-fashion-for-women-girls/) Grey creates for Carolina
> 
> -The [painting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_William_Waterhouse#/media/File:TempleofAesculapiusWaterhouse.jpg) Leonard commandeers


	2. Pilot Movie, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I finished the second half a lot faster than I thought I would. Enjoy!
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> -Carolina's [Princess Diana look](http://suzymenkesvogue.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/8db3f180.jpg)  
> -Donut quotes William Yeats when he greets Carolina  
> -The [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYW50F42ss8) Caboose sings

Grey drives like a madwoman. Every time she takes a corner, Carolina’s stomach gets left behind. She clutches at the roof handle and hopes that she’ll actually make it to her first day of school without dying in some fiery crash. When the car finally screeches to a stop in front of Westbridge High, Carolina climbs out and resists the urge to kiss the ground in relief.

A few people are staring, some surprised, some amused; she spots a familiar face among them.

“Ms. Kimball drives next time,” she says as Wash begins to maneuver through the crowd towards her. She sighs in defeat at Grey’s cheerful, “Oh, Vanessa doesn’t have a mortal driver’s license! And this was a special occasion. I need to get back to my work at Westbridge Medical. You’ll have to take the bus after this. We want you to get the full high school experience.”

“At least the bus driver will obey red lights….”

Grey laughs like Carolina is joking. She isn’t.   

“Hey,” Wash says, smiling. “Ready for your first day?”

Carolina resists the urge to smooth a hand down her dress. It’s the same light blue color as the dress she wore for the Vienna fundraiser. The woman at the shop called it a Princess Diana look. Glancing around, she wonders if she made a mistake. The girls she sees are mostly divided into two fashion choices: baggy jeans and cargo pants or dresses that look like lingerie. She decides not to worry. She likes the dress, and that’s what matters.

She shrugs. “Maybe?”

Grey leans out the window. Her nails are painted lavender this morning. She smiles. “You must be David. I’m Dr. Grey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wash says politely, shaking her hand. “You’re one of Carolina’s family friends?”

Grey giggles. “Oh, I wouldn’t call her father and I _friends_. Not after that science symposium disagreement that earned us both a year-long ban from all conferences!”

Wash blinks. Confusion creeps into his expression. He darts a glance towards Carolina. “Uh. Okay?”

“Thanks for driving me, Dr. Grey,” Carolina says. She drags Wash away before Grey can say anything else weird. Under her breath, she mutters, “Weird scientist joke. Just pretend it’s funny, okay?”

“Sure,” Wash says. His confusion starts to ebb, and then returns full-force as Grey calls after them.  

“Have a good day! Watch your finger!”

“Your finger?”

“Um, I almost closed it in the car door earlier,” Carolina lies. Over her shoulder, she glares at Grey, who smiles brightly back. For someone who’s always harping on about witch law and secrecy, Grey is terrible at pretending to be mortal. Grey and Kimball haven’t talked about their lives before becoming Carolina’s temporary guardians, but Carolina’s gotten the impression over that they both spend most of their time in the Other Realm. She wonders why her parents didn't try to find her half-mortal witches to be her guardians, but Grey and Kimball both get weird when she tries to ask questions. She's not going to press. 

She closes her hand into a fist. She hasn’t done magic since her birthday, although Grey’s nagged her every day about it. She’ll have to eventually, she knows, but right now she’s still trying to wrap her head around even the idea of magic.

“What’s your locker number?” Wash asks. When she tells him, he grins. “You’re right next to Niner! Great, I promised her I’d introduce you.”

“Niner?” Carolina repeats.

Wash shrugs as he weaves through the crowd. “Yeah, that's her nickname. The soccer team is a bunch of copycats.”

“Nah, we took your nickname idea and made it better,” a girl says, leaning against a closed locker. She’s wearing a flannel shirt, ripped jeans, and combat boots. Her hair looks naturally black where it isn’t dyed bright blue and red. She grins broadly. “Carolina? Wash said you were a redhead, but wow. Nice dress.”  

Carolina can’t tell if she’s joking or serious. Their outfits feel like polar opposites, and Carolina's read a few books and seen some movies where redheads get teased. But Niner keeps smiling and Wash doesn’t make any weird faces, so Carolina decides she’s being sincere. “Thanks,” she says, smiling back. She tilts her head towards Niner’s feet. “Nice boots.”

“Thanks. Wash said you were thinking of doing track. Have you ever played soccer? With those legs--”

A loud clang and even louder yelp of pain interrupts Niner.  
  
They all look over. A tall boy has both hands over his face. He groans weakly.  
  
Carolina’s training takes over. She crosses the hallway. “Can I see?”  
  
He slumps against the lockers instead, mumbling, “Okay, who left their locker door open? We need to have a talk.” He’s cupping one eye.  
  
“Let me see,” she orders. It isn’t until the words leave her mouth that she realizes she’s mimicking her mom. When he lowers his hands, she sees that there’s a shallow cut above his left eye, bleeding sluggishly.  
  
He blinks at her, pain turning to dazed surprise. “Uh, hi. You’re new.”  
  
“Hold still and try to keep your eyes open,” she says. There’s no blood in the clear part of his eye, but the dilation of both pupils, the cut, and the fast swelling has her worried. “Follow my finger,” she instructs, hoping the injury is less serious than she fears. His eyes track obediently.  
  
“That looks bad, York,” Niner says with a low whistle. “Good thing you’re not trying out for anything this season.”  
  
“I don’t know, I think an eye-patch might intimidate people on the court,” York says dryly. He doesn’t look at Niner, though, just keeps his eyes on Carolina. “So, uh, your name is…?”  
  
“Carolina. You’ll be fine,” Carolina says. The tip of her finger warms, and then her blood runs cold as the swelling disappears and the cut stops bleeding. She did that, she realizes. She said he’d be okay, and her magic made it happen. She steps back quickly, curling her fingers into another nervous fist. “Well, you’re tracking okay, but you should go the nurse’s office anyway. You never know with eye injuries.”  
  
“I, yeah,” York says. He prods cautiously at the area around his eye, looking confused. “Thanks.”

“And that, kids, is why you don’t run in the halls,” a new voice says. Carolina blinks as a teacher steps forward and takes York gently by the shoulder. She wonders how she missed him in the crowd; his hair is as red as hers. “Come on. Mr. DuFresne has an ice pack with your name on it.”

York winces and nods. “Uh, it was nice to meet you, Carolina.” As they walk away, she hears him ask, “Do you think I can get some aspirin? My head still hurts.”

“Aspirin? Where do you think we are, Phillips Academy?” the teacher says. “You’re lucky you’re getting an ice pack.”

York’s reply is lost as a bell rings. The sound is so loud that Carolina jumps.

Wash makes a face. “You get used to it. I can take you to your homeroom. You’re probably in Donut’s with us.”

“I think so.” Carolina fishes out the class schedule Grey gave her from her backpack.

She starts to hand it to him, but Niner grabs it. “Cool, you have Chemistry with us. Like, Simmons is a nerd and kind of bad at his job, but he’s a good guy. He's trying. Oh, and you and I have Spanish together. Uh, good luck. Lopez believes in that full immersion thing. None of us have ever heard him speak English.”

“One time I thought he did,” Wash says. “Turns out it was German.” He peers over Niner’s shoulder and nods. “Yeah, you’ve got Donut for English and homeroom, and Sarge for gym. Get ready for Sarge to order you to try out for track as soon as he sees you run. Hopefully he won't beg.”

 

* * *

 

 

Donut beams as they walk into the classroom.

“Good morning!” he says, throwing his arms out as though to embrace them, though he doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against his desk. He looks like a cross between a fashion model and a football player, smartly dressed in golden corduroy jacket, white dress shirt, and dark jeans. His eyes land on Carolina. She didn’t think his smile could widen, but it does. “And welcome to our newest student. I hope you’ll find that there are no strangers here, only friends you haven't yet met!”

“He’s in charge of the Drama Club,” Niner whispers, like that explains something.    

When Carolina tries to follow Niner and Wash to their seats, though, Donut stops her. “Oh, don’t be shy! Get up here and tell us about yourself!”

“Oh,” Carolina says. She’s caught off-guard, though she shouldn’t be surprised. The new kid introducing herself is definitely a thing in movies. She’s uncomfortably aware that everyone’s staring. “Do I have to?”

She’s serious, but Donut laughs.

At least most of her new classmates look sympathetic, though there a few are smirking.

She smooths a hand down her dress and smiles. “Hi. I’m Carolina Church.” Thanks to Wash, the laughter isn’t a surprise. She laughs too. “Yeah, I know. I heard about the geography class. I promise my name is really Carolina.”

“Principal Larue says you’re quite the globetrotter,” Donut says.

Carolina nods. “My mom works for Rex Rescue, which is a nonprofit that provides natural disaster rescue, recovery, and aid. So if there’s an earthquake, my mom goes there and helps. My dad and I go with her, so we’ve traveled all over the world.” She pauses, weighing her options, and then offers the same lie her father gave her. “But they wanted me to try high school, so I’m staying with some family friends for the next few years.”

“Are you interested in cheerleading?” a girl asks from the back. Like Niner, her hair is dyed. There’s a purple streak in the yellow. Carolina wonders if it’s a fashion trend. She also wonders at the aggression in the girl’s voice.

Niner snorts. “Worried about competition, South?”

South’s eyes narrow. “No.”

"Don't worry. We've seen your high-kick. As long as you don't get acne, Libby won't toss you aside." 

Donut claps his hands together, either oblivious to the way South is glaring and Niner is smirking, or so used to their arguing that he's decided to ignore it. “Oh, are you interested in cheerleading, Carolina? Or maybe Drama Club? I have big hopes for _The Little Shop of Horrors_ and _Arsenic and Old Lace_ this year!”

“No,” Carolina says. She meets Wash’s eyes and smiles. “I was thinking track.”

Wash gives her a thumbs up as Niner groans and South looks slightly less hostile.

 

* * *

 

The teacher who took York to the nurse’s office turns out to be Mr. Simmons. He smiles at her and says, “Welcome to Westbridge. Your guardian said you’d catch up pretty easily, but let me know if you need any help.”

Unlike Donut, he doesn’t make her introduce herself to the class. Instead he goes back to the blackboard, pushing his long cardigan sleeves up to his elbows before he grabs a piece of chalk. He writes three words. “Okay, guys, last week we started talking about elements, atoms, and compounds. Let’s see if everyone forgot it over the weekend. Can anyone tell me what an element is?”

When no one says anything, he turns, frowning. His face turns slightly pink. His voice is a little higher as he says, “Seriously? Guys, this is the basics. How is this not--” He stops and takes a breath. It sounds like he's talking through gritted teeth. “Okay. Let’s do a quick refresher. An element is--”

Niner leans over and whispers to Carolina, “We’ve been doing this chapter for a week. Everyone keeps pretending to forget it, and he keeps falling for it. One of the perks of having a guy straight out of school. I’ve got five bucks riding on him figuring it out and giving us all a pop quiz on Wednesday as revenge.”

Carolina bites her lip to keep from laughing. “So TV didn’t lie,” she whispers back. “Teens really are evil.”

"Yep," Niner says, grinning. 

“So, can anyone name an element for me?”

“Oh, I know!” One of the biggest guys Carolina has ever seen bounces out of his seat. He’s so tall that his arm almost touches the ceiling when he raises his hand. He beams at Simmons.

Carolina’s surprised when Simmons hesitates. He glances around, like he’s hoping someone else will raise their hand. No one does. Finally he says slowly and without enthusiasm, “Oh. You know one?”

“Yeah, Caboose. Name an element,” the boy next to him says, snickering.

“The element of surprise!”

Simmons makes a complicated face as smothered laughter fills the room. “That’s a literary element, so you’re not wrong, Caboose. But this is Chemistry, not English. I was looking for something from the periodic table.”

“Oh,” Caboose says. He frowns, but doesn’t sit down. Instead he glances around the room, taking in the science posters on the walls. He brightens. “Right. The periodic table. My sister, Abby, she's a chemist. She taught me that Tom Lehrer song over the summer!”

“She did?” Simmons looks excited. “Thank you, Caboose. We're talking about elements exactly like the Tom Lehrer song. In fact, studies show that music helps with memorization, so I could bring in my CD player and play the song, if you guys think that would help.”

Caboose takes a deep breath. He starts singing. “There's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium, and hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium--”

The boy beside him joins in.

“Okay, okay!” Simmons shouts to no avail. Caboose and his friend sing the entire song. Simmons has his head in his hands when they finish. There’s a beat of silence and then Simmons looks up. There’s a steely glint in his eyes and a dangerous color in his cheeks. “Tucker, I didn’t realize you could sing. Mr. Donut will want you in this year’s musical!”

Caboose’s friend stops grinning. “Hard pass. You can't get a girlfriend singing and dancing.”

Simmons ignores this. He stares around the room, meeting every student’s eyes, though his glance at Carolina is brief. Apparently she’s forgiven by dint of being brand new. “People seem to be having trouble with some basic concepts. Maybe listening to Caboose sing The Elements for the rest of class will help.”

Pretty much everyone groans. A few people protest, “Mr. Simmons!”

“Okay,” Caboose says happily, and starts over.

When Caboose finishes and takes a breath to sing a third time, Tucker says, “This is because I called your cat fat, isn’t it.”

Simmons crosses his arms. “No, Tucker. Shockingly, I’m doing this so you’ll learn. You know, my job? The one that I’m paid for? The one that I went to college to learn how to do?” He raises his voice. “Everyone should listen to Caboose because tomorrow we’re having a quiz. I expect everyone to know at least ten elements.”

“Europium, zirconium, lutetium, vanadium, and lanthanum and osmium and astatine and radium,” Caboose sings.

Wash leans over to Niner and whispers, “You owe me five bucks.”

Carolina swallows down another laugh and keeps her hands and her stupid magical trigger finger in her lap out of harm’s way.

 

* * *

 

Kimball looks up as Carolina comes through the door. She sets the newspaper aside and smiles. A quick glance at the paper shows that she's looking through the job ads. A few are circled, though most are crossed out. “How was your first day of school?”

Carolina drops her backpack onto a chair and pretends to think about it. “Let’s see. I made some friends, listened to someone sing a periodic table song five times in a row for Chemistry, had the gym teacher beg me on bent knee to join the track team…. Oh, and I healed a guy’s black eye just by saying he’d be fine!”

Kimball blinks. “Right,” she says after a moment. She sits up straighter, frowning. “Did anyone realize you did magic?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.”

“Good. But Carolina, this is what Grey and I were worried about. You _can’t_ keep ignoring your magic.” When Carolina starts to speak, Kimball holds up a hand. Her expression is sympathetic but firm. “I know that you haven’t touched the spellbook since your birthday. Listen. Before the Council ma-- before I became one of your guardians, I was a Quizmaster. That’s someone who’s paid to train and test young witches so they’ll pass their witch’s license exam. I know the signs of someone struggling to accept their powers. And I get it. Your life has changed so much in a week. Things are complicated and weird, and it doesn’t help that you’re living with strangers. You'd rather be with your parents than standing here talking to me.”

Carolina’s throat is tight. “Yeah, that sums it up.”  

Kimball leans forward. “I don’t agree with the Council on a lot of things. But what we do all agree on is that young and untrained witches have to learn to control their magic. Otherwise it will manifest itself subconsciously. Uncontrolled magic is dangerous to yourself and to the people around you. What if someone had made you angry today? You wouldn't be the first half-witch to hurt a mortal by accident.”

Carolina winces. She looks down at her hands, knowing that Kimball has a point. She doesn’t want her magic, but she has to learn enough to control it. How can she perform _teshuvah_ if she can’t confess to a mortal what she did to hurt them? Even if these powers feel like a burden, she still has a responsibility to keep her magic from hurting others.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll look at the spellbook tonight.” She thinks of York’s injury, the damage fading before her eyes, and for the first time feels some genuine interest in her powers. Once she’s back with her mom in two years, she could be a bigger help. She can’t do anything flashy because that would violate the secrecy rule, but maybe she can make a broken bone heal faster or fix concussions and internal bleeding. “Are there healing spells?”

Kimball sighs. “Right. There’s something else you should know. I know you healed that boy by accident, but it can’t happen again. Witches are forbidden to use their magic for charitable means.”

“ _What_?” That small spark of enthusiasm dies, replaced by disbelief. Carolina shakes her head. “What are you talking about? We can’t use our magic to help people?”

Kimball looks uncomfortable. “Spells helping mortals generally backfire in surprising ways. The Great Chicago Fire--”

“No,” Carolina says firmly. She imagines her mom’s face if she told her magic has to be used selfishly. She shakes her head. “That’s wrong. _Mitzvah goreret mitzvah_. One good deed will bring another good deed. I hear what you’re saying. Spells have gone wrong in the past. But that could be for a lot of reasons! Maybe the mortal didn’t know what they actually needed or wanted. Maybe the witch casting the spell was really doing it for selfish reasons. But you're trying to say that all spells helping mortals will hurt them? I don’t believe that.”   

“Carolina--”

“You and Grey keep telling me how wonderful being a witch is. But what’s the point of magic if I don’t use it for tikkun olam? I can’t use magic just for myself. That’s selfish. Selfishness leads to more selfishness. I don’t want--”

Kimball takes her by the shoulders. The gesture's unexpected, and Carolina stops talking to stare in astonishment. Kimball looks back, her mouth set in a hard line. “Carolina, listen to me. You’re a sixteen year old half-mortal who’s only just learned about magic. The Witches Council has been around for millennia. They are old and powerful and vindictive. You _can’t_ disobey their rules.”

“I,” Carolina says, but Kimball talks over her.  

“There are other ways to help people. You could start a food drive at your school, or donate some of your allowance to charity. But you can’t use your magic to help mortals. Someday those rules might change, but right now you won’t get away with defying the Council. If you break a rule, you’ll be punished, and so will Grey and I.”

“You’d get in trouble?” Carolina says slowly.

Kimball smiles wryly. “We’re your guardians. We’re responsible for you. Of course we'd get in trouble.”

Carolina absorbs this. She hates the rule, but Kimball is right about one thing. She’s only just learned about magic. She has time to figure out ways to help people without getting Grey and Kimball in trouble. Right now she needs to focus on learning control.

She nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Kimball says. She studies Carolina’s face, but whatever she sees satisfies her. She smiles and steps back, releasing Carolina's shoulders. “Good. Let me know if you have any questions. And the spellbook has the rules in the first chapter. I think you should read over them tonight. Tomorrow we’ll start practicing some spells and work on your control.”

“Sure,” Carolina says. “But right now I need to do homework.”

Kimball laughs a little. “Yeah. Another downside to being a half-mortal witch: balancing mortal schoolwork and spell-work. Grey has a twelve-hour shift, so it’ll be just you and me for dinner. Does seven and chicken soup work?”

“Sure,” Carolina says. She grabs her backpack from the chair and goes upstairs. The semester only started three weeks ago, so she’s not too far behind. She’ll read a few chapters of _Fahrenheit 451_ first, she thinks, and then tackle algebra.

Then she opens her bedroom door. There’s a stranger in her room.

He spins to face her, dropping her canvas bag on the bed.

All her mom’s self-defense lessons kick in. She’s across the room and smashing the palm of her hand into his nose as he starts to speak. His nose breaks with a satisfying crunch, and he yelps and falls backwards, tumbling over the bed.

She’s about to yell for Kimball. Then he hauls himself upright, and she’s distracted by the mess she’s made of his face. His nose is already swelling, blood staining his mouth and chin. Weirdly, he’s actually smiling, a wry, slight curl of his lips that she almost recognizes. It’s that strange familiarity that makes her hesitate.

“Really, Carolina. I expected Dr. Grey or Ms. Kimball to teach you a few spells by now. Though I suppose you are your mother’s daughter.”  

The accent isn’t quite right, but the intonation is. Carolina stares. His eyes are the same shade of green as hers. She’s never seen a photograph of her father as a teenager. He always said all his childhood photos were lost in a fire, but from what Grey and Kimball have said over the last few days about witch lifespans, she suspects that he was born before the invention of cameras. It's something she's trying hard not to think about. But she knows this face, those eyes, nose, lips, recognizes it even half-covered in blood and with years subtracted from his age.  

“ _Dad_?”

His smile vanishes. “No.”

She stretches out her hand. What had she said to York to heal his eye? “You’re fine,” she says, willing it to be true. “Your nose isn’t broken.”

He winces and then looks startled as the swelling disappears. He touches his nose gingerly, and manages to smear more blood onto his nose. Eyebrows still raised, he stares at his bloody fingers for a moment. He purses his lips, another familiar sign of displeasure that sits oddly on a too-young face. “Well, this certainly wasn’t the plan,” he murmurs. He frowns and then says something too low and fast for her to make out. The blood disappears. He looks slightly relieved, looking at his hand for another few seconds before he drops it to his side.

“What was the plan? Who are you? Did my dad send you?” Carolina asks, trying to make sense of this stranger with her father's eyes and an accent like a William Shakespeare who grew up in southern Alabama.  
  
His face does a little twitch. Weird. Her father's a better liar, though maybe Carolina's just never seen him this rattled. He says slowly, “Did he send me here? Not...precisely.” When Carolina raises an eyebrow, he winces. “I escaped through a portal while he was trying to understand how the spell went so badly awry. I-- He--”

He makes a small frustrated sound. “He adapted a simulacrum spell to create a mindless double that would survive indefinitely. A clever loophole, he-- we thought-- The rules state that a half-witch cannot see their mortal parent or visit their witch parent until they've received their witch’s license, but as a technicality, a simulacrum isn't truly Leonard Church. He would have put his consciousness into it for brief periods and visited you.” He pauses, and sounds the most like her father when he adds, “Malcolm would have been _furious_.”  
  
“But instead the spell….”  
  
“Created me,” he says with a thin-lipped smile. He spreads his hands and offers her a sarcastic bow. “With most of his memories but a mind of my own. And the body of a teenager. Isn't that unfortunate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For each episode, we’ll also do a shout-out an episode that got an Honorable (or Dishonorable) Mention in our list! 
> 
> **Honorable Mention** :
> 
> 1x04 - Victory Laps - When Carolina accidentally cheats and uses magic in her first cross country race, she becomes obsessed with learning how to control her powers. So obsessed, in fact, that she almost loses her magic. This is a great episode that not only gives us our first taste of how insanely competitive Carolina is, but also offers the first tantalizing hint that people can lose or reject their magic, something none of us realized was going to be a huge plot point in later seasons. (Okay, maybe some people figured that out. But they're terrifying and potentially time-travelers.) Plus, Kimball gets to use some of those former Quizmaster skills! 
> 
> **Dishonorable Mention:**
> 
> 1x07 - Looking-Glass House - One of the biggest complaints about the first season is the way the writers blatantly ripped off earlier Sabrina the Teenage Witch episodes, and this episode is one of the worst of the lot. We can’t blame Carolina for having a bad day and wanting to escape her life for a couple of hours. But we’ve seen this same plot before, and the writers didn’t bother to do anything new with it. Carolina's bad mood traps her in the mirror and she has to figure a way back out. Boring, especially when you consider that the writers do a _third_ episode involving Church and mirrors and actually make it feel fresh and original.


End file.
